


to the horizon

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: (just teasing tho), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arguing, Awkwardness, Bitterness, Chirolinguistics, Drunkenness, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Extended Metaphors, Flirting, Fluff, Goodbyes, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, M/M, Reunions, Spoilers, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Tension, Unrequited Crush, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-16 05:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16079522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: My contribution to the drift/ratchet pairing week! - check out @dratchtember on twitter :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt #1 - alternate universe
> 
> I chose to go pre-war! :) A combination of a few scenarios/aus/etc I've discussed with friends before.

“I can’t believe this.”

 

Drift peered at him sheepishly from beneath the blanket. Or at least, as sheepish as he could appear when he could barely sit up without a wobble. Ratchet thought he looked ridiculous, but he couldn’t say anything about it, really, since he had been the one to give him the blanket in the first place.

 

Drift hiccuped.

 

Ratchet rolled his optics. Despite staying here and working as his assistant for the past few weeks, Ratchet hadn’t expected to see Drift _in_ a med-berth again so soon. But that’s what happened when the medic found him to be staggering drunk.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, his yellow optics blazing bright.

 

Ratchet sighed. “The engex was a gift, but I’m not upset about that.”

 

Drift pouted at him doubtfully, hooking his digits around the fabric of the blanket and hugging it around his frame. He blinked blearily. “What?”

 

The medic frowned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the berth. He was quiet for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t read?”

 

Drift scoffed and scowled at his own lap. By now he appeared more blanket than mech, with his face cast in shadow this way – only his finials poked up past the hem of the blanket now. Because that had been the issue, really. Ratchet had dismissed him hovering around looking for more things to do and told him to take a break with some fuel from the fridge. It was the only conclusion he could come to as to _why_. Considering how confused and distressed he’d been at first. Ratchet doubted if he’d ever been drunk before, no matter how many circuit boosters he’d injected. So it seemed highly unlikely to him that Drift was just trying to swipe his engex. “Didn’t seem to matter,” the speedster finally murmured.

 

“Didn’t – ” Ratchet bit off the retort, _trying_ to be patient. “Drift...”

 

Drift peered up at him again, clearly trying to look tough. That normally didn’t work anyway, but especially not when he kept swaying. He hiccuped again.

 

It was hard to figure out what to say. Convincing Drift that it was okay to stay here if he helped out around the place had been hard enough, but after the mech had ended up in his clinic twice more, each time more banged up and strung out than the last, Ratchet hadn’t been able to just turn him loose again. What if he was too late next time?

 

For some reason, he couldn’t face that grim possibility with Drift as he could with the other bots he tried to help. And now, he didn’t want to say anything that would set Drift off and wake up the next morning to the mech gone on the streets again.

 

Ratchet rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, if you’re here, we’re working together, right?” Drift nodded cautiously. “So, if you need help with anything, I’d prefer it if you just ask. I don’t care about that kind of thing, okay?”

 

Drift grumbled but he eventually sighed and peered back over at Ratchet. “Okay.”

Ratchet smiled and patted his helm. “Good. Now, go on and lay down. You’ll need a while to sleep that off.”

 

With a grunt – somewhere between sour attitude and relief – Drift flopped sideways onto the berth. The blanket more completely covered his helm now, but it didn’t muffle another loud hiccup.

 

Ratchet sighed. What had he gotten himself into?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt #2 - hidden weapons
> 
> some Deadlock/Ratchet with some suggestive themes :)

Despite the fact that they had just been in a firefight, Ratchet was patching him up. Of course he was. Deadlock sighed. “What is the point of this?”

 

Ratchet didn’t look at him but he snorted. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Or did you like bleeding out on the unpopulated hemisphere of this backwoods moon?”

 

The Decepticon scowled. “Yeah, not what I meant.”

 

Ratchet rolled his optics, finishing up the patch on his frame and standing. “I can’t dutifully let you go, either.”

 

Deadlock narrowed his optics. “Yeah, _that’s_ what I meant.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Surprisingly, it was no real comfort to Deadlock that Ratchet wasn’t happy about it either. Easy to say when your side would be the one keeping the POW! Unfortunately, his scouting ship was out of power completely and offered little hope for long-range communication. But if he could get to the inhabitants on the other side of the moon…

 

It was a possibility – though not much of one if he didn’t get away from the good doctor, who had a laser pistol within as easy reach as his laser scalpel. He eyed the gun on the medic’s hip; Deadlock’s own were, of course, out of reach.

 

Deadlock crossed a leg as he continued to watch Ratchet carefully pack up his field kit. For a moment, he toyed with the thought of just being captured. For whatever reason, Ratchet was unlikely to actively put him in harm’s way… it would give him more time and resources to make a better (and probably smarter) escape.

 

But then again, Ratchet was one mech. Who was coming to retrieve him? Where would he be transferred to? He had little doubts about the welcomes he’d receive from Autobot command.

 

Mind made up, Deadlock stood. Ratchet immediately straightened as well, clearly on alert. Deadlock spread his empty hands as if to remind the medic that he’d been disarmed. “What?” he said. He shuffled closer; for a mech who’d spent the better part of his creation trying to appear threatening and unapproachable, he couldn’t really gauge his success at being disarming. “I should say thank you for the repairs.”

 

Ratchet frowned at him. “You can say that from over there,” he remarked.

 

Deadlock stepped closer again. “You aren’t exactly budging,” he retorted. “Besides… you’re the one who’s armed.”

 

The medic grunted, glaring at him but saying nothing. And before he could try to order him to sit on the ground again or take a step backwards, Deadlock reached out and grasped his wrist.

 

Ratchet hissed in an intake. “Deadlock – ”

 

Deadlock gave him a sharp grin and tugged him closer before he could finish that sentence, wrapping him into a kiss.

 

Once upon a time, he’d tried to do far more than this to thank this medic for different repairs. That had ended differently than now. Right _now_ , Ratchet was kissing him back and Deadlock was so stunned he almost forgot what he was doing. The hand near his own flexed and Deadlock suddenly felt his spark surge.

 

Of _course_.

 

Deadlock changed his grasp, sliding his thumb up the middle of Ratchet’s palm as he slowly started to grip the mech’s hand instead. Ratchet gasped against his lips and now he was finding it more tempting to see how far he could get.

 

 _Very_ tempting. This is what he got for trying to think with his CPU: a perfect opportunity _not_ to.

 

With Ratchet thoroughly distracted by the kiss and one of Deadlock’s hands entangled with the medics, squeezing his palm and twining their fingers, he placed one of his hands on Ratchet’s waist… slipped down to his hip… wrapped his hand around the grip of his sidearm.

 

Ratchet stiffened for reasons _other_ than the clear pleasure that had been flecking through his field as Deadlock teased his hand, but it was too late; Deadlock had the weapon out of its holster and spun them around, his grip on Ratchet’s hand now serving to keep him subdued. He held the laser pistol up, not quite aiming it at Ratchet’s head but the threat was clear.

 

“Sorry,” he murmured roughly. His own frame was warm, his vents chugging along harder than they had before. “Gonna have to take a rain check on this date.”

 

“Just go then, there’s no need to gloat,” Ratchet grunted, trying not to move his frame too much with his arm in the painful lock Deadlock held on him.

 

“No hard feelings,” he purred against Ratchet’s audio, feeling a pulse of triumph when the medic shivered. Within moments, Deadlock released him and shifted into his alt-form to speed away.

 

Ratchet could probably give chase in his ship, but somehow Deadlock doubted that he would.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt #3 - road trip
> 
> initially I thought this might end up as shuttle honeymoon stuff but then I ended up with uh. this.

Putting himself to work had been an obvious solution to many of the thoughts which had plagued him for the last few weeks. Doing standard crew check-ups to be able to mark everyone in good health and ready for launch was something Ratchet could probably do in his recharge, given many other situations he’d been in, but it was something to focus on and the all-clear reports kept Magnus pleased.

 

Or they would, if a certain third-in-command of the vessel would show up.

 

Ratchet crossed his arms, glaring at the empty med-berth. Not that he was eager to confront _those_ thoughts and feelings either, but Drift was the only one so far today who hadn’t shown up at – or at least reasonably _around_ – his appointment time.

 

Ratchet wasn’t particularly surprised by it, either, but that didn’t allay his irritation. In the end, it was still just a standard check-up – if Drift would just _show up_ it would be over with in a matter of minutes and they could both move on.

 

He was on the verge of opening up a comm.-link to the swordsmech and saying the first caustic thing that flew off his glossa, but it was at that precise moment that the door to the medibay opened. Sure enough, it was Drift.

 

“You’re late.” Far less snappy than what he’d been thinking a moment ago, but it did the job anyway given how sheepish the mech looked.

 

 _Sheepish_. It was bizarre. He’d rarely even seen the Drift he’d known before the war exhibit such behavior. And Ratchet didn’t know _why_ his whole do-over on attitude got under his plating so much, but –

 

_That’s a lie._

 

Ratchet pursed his lips, gesturing at the med-berth as if to say, _Well?_

 

“So do you just prefer making fashionably late entrances or is Rodimus really monopolizing that much of your time?” he remarked.

 

“Uh...” Drift didn’t seem to know how to reply. But he was sitting still under Ratchet’s diagnostic tools, so that was something.

 

Ratchet glanced at him briefly. “Cat got your tongue?”

 

Drift gave him a funny look, taking a moment to remember the human idiom, before finally shrugging. “Nothing I can say is likely to improve your mood.”

 

“Smartest thing you’ve ever said,” Ratchet muttered, checking his diagnostic ports with a quick sweep before moving on.

 

“What was that?”

 

Ratchet glanced back at Drift. “Looking forward to this mad road trip, I expect?”

 

Drift arched an optic ridge. “You signed up for this mad road trip.”

 

Well. He _had_ done that.

 

“Listen,” Drift said, now attempting a smile on him that he was sure the other mech felt was charming, “Everything will go fine. We have a plan, and we have a good crew.”

 

Ratchet snorted as he glanced over the diagnostic’s final readouts and logged it. “A _plan_.” Launching into the galaxy on a fool mission to find some mythological figures that probably never existed didn’t seem like much of a plan to Ratchet, but of course it was to Drift.

 

Or was Drift trying to convince himself as well?

 

“Ratchet?”

 

The medic shook himself out of his stupor and blinked over at Drift. “Oh, right. That’s all, you can go.” Drift stood, but he still lingered. After a moment, Ratchet glanced back at him with a raised optic ridge. “What?”

 

For a moment he was worried Drift was going to bring up everything he was trying so hard not to think about. But then he shook his head, affixed that stupid dopey smile to his lips, and began to walk away. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Ratchet watched him go, feeling so many different things he was numb.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh life got intense and weird but I'm gonna finish every prompt, late or not!
> 
> #4 - disgust
> 
> I got... a little carried away so this one is a bit longer than the others lol;;;;;

Drift stopped dead in the doorway. It wasn’t _unusual_ to see Pharma there, sharing a cube with Ratchet at a little side-table in the clinic, but it always startled him somehow. Probably because he knew that Pharma didn’t particularly care for him… and was wary of the sway the mech could potentially have over Ratchet. They were partners, after all, and Drift was, well.

 

He glanced down as he stepped in; he was dirty, like the grime of the seedier parts of Rodion was just eager to jump back on his frame. Really, it was more the foot traffic at the packed rally, but…

 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he muttered. He tucked the holo-flimsy into his subspace; prudent to keep it out of sight, anyway. The last thing Drift wanted to do was get into a tiff with Ratchet over whether he was _really_ looking for actual employment opportunities – in general, but especially not with Pharma right there, a glint to his optics as though looking for faults in him. An argument would be unnecessary ammunition to hand to the mech.

 

Ammunition. As if there were a battle to be had. Ratchet was kind, but he didn’t seem to notice Drift in the same way.

 

“No apology necessary,” Ratchet said.

 

Drift glanced back at him but looked away again when he caught the curl of Pharma’s lip. He just shrugged, pulling himself a couple of cubes from the small dispenser. “Well, I’ll stay out of your way anyway.”

 

Despite focusing only on his task and getting to the back room that served as a makeshift sleeping quarters for him, Drift still had the impression Ratchet tried to say something else to him. Well, anything important Ratchet could tell him later. Drift never felt like staying in the same room as Pharma for a long time, and it had less to do with the fact that he pined for the mech’s lover and more the way he felt picked apart under the jet’s gaze. Something akin to being broken down into parts, and found lacking.

 

He was used to contempt, anger, lust, entitlement in others’ gazes – but this was different and Drift found it much easier to simply avoid Pharma altogether.

 

Drift crawled onto the berth in the room instead, nestling his back to the wall and pulling the flimsy out of his subspace again. He still could only read some words here and there – enough to piece together the meaning of enough of the sentences. Of course, the gist he’d already heard – a few times, even. And the mech who spoke them somehow gripped his core just by spoken word. But… he traced his fingertips over the glyphs on the flimsy screen.

 

Between running the clinic and his duties as Autobots’ Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet was too busy to do anything more than show him how to access library databases and the resources within them, but that had proven invaluable itself. Even last week, he wouldn’t have been able to recognize as many words on this page as he did now.

 

On the other side of the wall, he heard the mellow tones of regular conversation slip more into agitation. Drift tried not to listen, but it was difficult; with a flimsy he could only half-read, the increasingly clear words being exchanged by Ratchet and Pharma were all that he could seem to focus on.

 

That had been the case enough times for Drift to recognize the current disagreement. It went something like: Pharma wanted Ratchet to come back to Iacon full-time, and Ratchet wanted to keep the clinic open. Pharma thought the clinic was a waste of time, and “– things are getting worse than usual around these parts, Ratchet! Surely you’ve noticed.”

 

“Things are getting more dangerous and you want me to _close_ the only clinic around here that won’t take advantage of these sparks in one way or another?”

 

Even Drift could hear Pharma’s exaggerated sigh on the other side of the wall. “I want you to think about _your_ spark for once,” he said finally.

 

There was a pause. “I know.” Ratchet’s voice was a low murmur that would have been indistinct if Drift hadn’t been so familiar with it. “But it’s hard to let go of when I feel I could make a difference –”

 

Pharma scoffed. “Come on,” he said. When there was no response, he added, “You _knew_ this little endeavor couldn’t last forever. Right?”

 

The silence only continued.

 

Drift felt dread grip his spark, followed quickly by self-recrimination. Of _course_ it wouldn’t – Ratchet had other duties. A whole other life that he would eventually get back to, one Drift probably couldn’t even dream of. The fragging Prime was practically his amica endura!

 

No, Ratchet would definitely move on. He glanced down at the flimsy in his hands, his gaze lingering on the large purple symbol at the top of it. For one reason or another.

 

So lost was he in a dark web of potential futures, he missed the start of the second wind to this argument. In fact, Drift was only broken out of his thoughts because he heard his name. “– and why only him?” Pharma was saying when he tuned back in.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“I’ve seen how many unfortunate sparks come through here. Why is he the one taking up your spare berth back there?”

 

Drift wanted to be angry, but mostly he felt an old twinge of guilt. The accusatory tone was uncalled for, but how upset could he possibly get, given he’d had the same thoughts numerous times?

 

Another pause, accompanied by a frustrated sigh from Ratchet. “I don’t know, I saw him around enough that we got acquainted, and –”

 

“And _what?_ You think he’s your friend? He just trotted in here clutching Decepticon propaganda! He’s not looking for jobs to move on, he’s going to rallies – and if he keeps doing that, he’ll bring _much_ more trouble to your doorstep than extra hungry mouths.”

 

Even the silence in Drift’s own room was heavy and ringing. So. He _hadn’t_ gotten the flimsy into his subspace in time ahead of Pharma’s quick gaze. Drift let out a shuddering sigh, squishing the holo-flimsy between his hands. On the other side of the wall, not even Ratchet seemed to know what to say.

 

Not that it mattered; Drift really was done eavesdropping now.He shoved the flimsy back into his subspace and stared at his half-drunk cube. With a sigh, he downed the rest of it, and shoved the extra cube into his subspace as well.

 

He would need it tomorrow.

 

**

 

After a night of fitful recharge, Drift awoke – and when he emerged into the main clinic he was almost surprised to find Ratchet there. Normally when Pharma came over, they – well, they spent their nights elsewhere. And yet here the medic was, and Pharma was nowhere to be seen.

 

Ratchet stared at him. “You all right?”

 

Drift blinked, realizing he must have made some motion or expression. He shrugged. “Yeah.” It was just that the decision to leave had been much easier when he thought Ratchet wasn’t going to be there. Maybe that was cowardly, but – what could he do? On some level, Pharma was right. Drift was causing too much trouble for Ratchet and the least he could do for the mech who’d saved his life multiple times was to remove himself. Whatever he felt for Ratchet was foolish, likely never to be noticed let alone returned, and it was selfish to stay and continue to cause issues between Ratchet and his partner.

 

Ratchet, however, was giving him a skeptical look. “You sure about that?”

 

Drift glanced back at him, putting on a fleeting smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I, uh – I found work.”

 

“Oh!” Ratchet looked surprised, like that wasn’t at all what he was expecting Drift to say. “That’s – wow, that’s great!”

 

Drift looked away again, not able to look at Ratchet’s expression after he’d lied. There was no job, but didn’t matter; he could take care of himself like he always did. He realized Ratchet had said something else and lifted his helm. “Huh?”

 

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

 

Ratchet’s gaze on him was searching. Not accusing or suspicious, really, but – it was clear there was _some_ doubt. Of course, he’d been around Drift for much longer now, it made sense to wonder whether he was telling the truth in something so sudden.

 

Drift shrugged. “I didn’t want to interrupt your evening.” He didn’t have to fake a smile for what he had to say next. “Thank you for everything. I mean it.”

 

Ratchet’s gaze softened. “Of course,” he said. “But –”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Whatever the medic had to say, he was clearly rethinking it. He sighed. “Be careful out there, kid.”

 

Drift grinned. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got a plan, I can take care of myself.”

 

Unable to stand any further goodbyes, Drift finally made for the door. He remembered the cube in his subspace, and the flimsy.

 

Well, he could attend one more rally before deciding where he would go from here.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt #5 - rusted but functional
> 
> my parade of late dratchtember fics continues! I'm excited about this one because it's an idea I've wanted to write for some time, and the prompt fit oh so well... plus setting it during AHM was fun, too. It was one of the first major TF comic events I got into while it was releasing ^^

Ratchet sighed. Someone stood in the doorway to the makeshift medibay (and a sad excuse for one, at that) and he knew – without even turning his head, he _knew_ it was the same mech he’d been shocked to see saunter in alongside Kup, Springer, and a handful of Wreckers and other troublemakers: Drift.

 

Drift, who sported a red badge now. Drift, who now had swords strapped to his sides instead of guns. Drift, who had traded battle-worn, laserfire scorched armor for gleaming white plating. The armor was just as heavy duty, but the quality of paint seemed almost luxurious.

 

Oddly pristine, considering who it was.

 

A gentle rap on the door jamb brought Ratchet’s attention away from these thoughts. Right, he’d stayed still long enough it probably appeared he hadn’t noticed the mech. Still not looking away from the rather unpromising diagnostics from Optimus, Ratchet said, “What do you want, Drift?”

 

Drift appeared to shuffle awkwardly before finally stepping forward. “Uh… Kup said I should report here.”

 

_Now_ Ratchet looked at him, an optic ridge arched. “Did he?” It sounded far more skeptical than he perhaps intended; Kup had mentioned nothing to him about any injuries among his team or anything else that needed tending to… though of course, sending Drift to him without any clue of the can of worms _that_ opened would be Kup’s way of saying so.

 

Drift himself only nodded. He still hovered by the door, making it clear it likely was not, in fact, his idea that he was attempting to give a clever cover.

 

Either that, or he wasn’t keen on walking any closer to Prime’s supine frame.

 

Ratchet found himself sighing again. “Did he say why?”

 

Drift made a face. “He said… you would know why.” With a shrug, he added, “I figured it was his polite way of sending me to get thoroughly checked, just in case.”

 

He didn’t say just in case _why_ , but it was obvious; just in case his change of heart wasn’t so genuine. Just in case he was planning on turning on them.

 

“Well, come on, then,” he said, gesturing. There weren’t exactly medical slabs, but there _was_ a dusty table… or shelf? – bolted to one of the walls. It would hold Drift. ...It _should_ hold Drift.

 

Drift seemed to have similar doubts about the structural integrity and stayed where he was. “I can just stand.”

 

Ratchet pointed again. “Sit.” There was no real reason anymore, except to be contrary. Ratchet didn’t really care. And this time, Drift offered no argument and silently crossed the room to perch on the edge of the shelf-table.

 

Silence dominated as Ratchet scanned over Drift’s frame with several different types of scan. He found nothing unusual. More weapons were concealed on his frame than advertised, but that was common from anyone on any side of the war.

 

He recorded the results on his datapad and transmitted them to Kup before clearing the diagnostic tools and setting them aside. Drift shifted a little in his seat, staying quiet for another moment before finally speaking up. “Is… that all?”

 

Ratchet shrugged. “Yeah. Congratulations, you don’t bear any obvious signs of premeditated betrayal.”

 

The other mech pursed his lips. “I’m not going to betray you.”

 

Ratchet grunted.

 

But whatever he might have said next was lost in a sudden, sharp pulse of pain from his wrists to every joint in his hands, even spreading out to sending waves of pain and tingling numbness all the way to his elbows. Whatever had been in his hand clattered to the floor with a loud sound. Drift jumped to his pedes and said _something_ that Ratchet didn’t register.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Ratchet gasped out, blinking his optics hard and staring at the cracked datapad on the floor until it was in proper focus again. With a huff, he went to pick it up… and realized his fingers were stuck in a curved, claw-like position and trying to straighten them hurt even _more_. “Could you – ?”

 

But Drift had already plucked the datapad from the floor and gently set it aside with the tools. At least he hadn’t dropped _those_. Ratchet found a stool he’d been sitting on previously and sank onto it, watching with relief as he was able to flex his fingers – slowly, slowly…

 

“How long have they done this?”

 

Ratchet blinked. Suddenly Drift was there, kneeling in front of him with one of the medic’s hands held gently in both of his own. “Drift – ” He didn’t really want to answer that. Ratchet knew a pattern when he saw one, and he knew when the pattern was slowly increasing, but he wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

 

“I think I know something that might help, if you want...” Drift released his hand, merely letting it rest atop his palm, and offering his other hand palm-up as well.

 

Ratchet squinted down at him, though he hadn’t withdrawn his hand… yet. He flexed the fingers of his other hand, feeling them move if but stiffly. “As long as it isn’t some _clever trick_ ,” he said dryly.

 

Drift’s optic ridges drew together, concerned. “A clever trick?” he repeated. “Why...” But then he seemed to catch up with what Ratchet was referring to and reset his vocalizer. As if that would cover up the flush on his features with Ratchet’s hands relatively close to the plating. “No. It’s not a trick. I just want to help.”

 

Ratchet stared at him for another long moment before he finally placed his free hand in Drift’s face. “Fine.”

 

Drift nodded. Instead of saying anything else, he shifted the grasp of his hands, holding them up, palms flat and mirroring Ratchet’s. And then he began to move his hands, his fingertips seeming to almost dance over his own, finding little seams between his fingers and along his palm, even down to his wrists.

 

Ratchet felt his palms warm and tingle – and not _only_ from the delicate touches upon his normally very sensitive hands. He watched Drift’s hands moving against his own for a long, indeterminate time. Finally, Drift seemed to be done, and carefully withdrew his hands. Ratchet’s gaze was still upon his own, curling and flexing his red digits. “Chirolinguistics?” he finally asked.

 

Drift tilted his helm. “Yeah,” he finally replied. “I thought, since it – ”

 

“-- stimulates the nervecircuits. Yeah.” Ratchet rolled his wrists. Not only did they feel improved after the attack, but they felt more relaxed than ever thanks to Drift’s attention. The mech stood again, a glance over his shoulder showing his sudden remembrance of the incapacitated third across the small room. Surely Drift was ready to bolt by now. “I don’t know what to say. Thanks, kid.”

 

It rolled so naturally off his glossa. Drift froze for a moment; he tried not to show it, but Ratchet still spotted it. Still, he managed an almost natural smile… even as he slipped back toward the exit. “You’re welcome,” he said. “If you – I mean, if it happens again, I’d be happy to...”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Ratchet said. He watched Drift turn to go and called out to him again. Drift stopped, peering over his shoulder back at the medic. “Just – don’t tell anyone about that. There’s too much to worry about already.”

 

Drift nodded. “I won’t tell,” he promised.

 

Then he was gone.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for prompt #6 - violet :)

Another quiet day in the shuttle was the new normal, but it wasn’t something either of them would complain about. There wasn’t much room, but they’d learned to negotiate the shared space. Ratchet sat on the bunk, reading from a datapad. Certainly was an odd thing, to have time in which he had nothing else to do except read some long-neglected material at his leisure. This was not the pace of life he’d grown accustomed to over the last several million years, but…

 

He glanced over at Drift, who practically lounged in the navigation seat. The shuttle was on autopilot for now, so there was no need for him to do something like sit properly. But the way the mech’s crossed legs hung casually over the arm of the chair made for a sight that Ratchet didn’t mind taking in.

 

Ratchet smiled at his datapad. _Now_ he was getting carried away.

 

He had almost succeeded in getting his attention back to his reading when a glint of motion caught his optic. Ratchet blinked, gazing back at the mech; Drift was turning something over in his fingers, and with how absorbed he was in it, probably had been for some time. Ratchet had been too busy ogling his legs to notice.

 

Ratchet watched as Drift turned the thing over in his hands again and caught a flash of purple. Ratchet blinked and lowered his datapad to his lap.

 

He was almost too stunned to speak. _Almost_. “I didn’t know you kept it,” the medic said.

 

Drift lifted his helm, peering over at Ratchet as though surprised he was there. He shrugged a shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Ratchet raised an optic ridge. “Why? I would have thought switching teams would be a motivation,” he replied.

 

Drift snorted, looking back down at the badge in his hand. “True, but it’s hard to part ways with,” he replied. He wrapped his hand around it, gazing back at Ratchet. “I’m sure you understand. Last I checked, you were fond of advertising how they’re made.”

 

An odd flush crept over Ratchet’s frame. How many bitter words had he uttered about it? Too many, probably. And yet Drift had such a coy, nearly playful way of highlighting it…

 

Ratchet sighed, tapping his finger along the screen of his datapad – now dark due to his inattentiveness. “I could weld it back in there,” he remarked.

 

For some bizarre reason, this set Drift into peals of laughter. Startled, Ratchet sat straight again, glaring over at the mech giggling in the navigation chair. “What?”

 

Drift just shook his helm, finally calming himself and resetting his vents before speaking once more. “Nothing, it’s just. You’re so serious about it.”

 

Ratchet sighed. “Aren’t you?”

 

He watched as Drift rolled the badge between his fingers. The glints and glares of violet still gave Ratchet an eerie feeling creeping along his backsruts. “I dunno,” he said. “I guess. For one thing, it’s completely transformed. It’s a completely different shape, color… this changed, it wouldn’t fit. Once changed, it cannot go back.”

 

Drift was gazing at the badge again, and his words and preoccupation told Ratchet all he really needed to know. Still. “So, you keep it. And remember it.”

 

The swordsmech looked up again, one of his _weird_ smiles across his lips. “Yes,” he said, closing his hand around the badge again and letting it fall into his lap. “And learn to live with it.”

 

Ratchet grunted. He wasn’t sure what response to give that.

 

Drift’s smile broadened as he looked over at Ratchet again. “Maybe I should give it to you,” he replied.

 

That made Ratchet’s optic ridges shoot up. “And what would _I_ do with it?”

 

Drift wasn’t laughing again, but he looked damn close. “Keep it safe?”

 

Ratchet squinted at him before shaking his helm. “You’re mixing your metaphors, kid,” he remarked.

 

Now Drift did laugh. “Metaphors?” he repeated. “I thought we were talking about my old badge.”

 

“Oh for – !” As Ratchet exclaimed, Drift broke into more laughter. “Just let me read in peace, you pain in the aft.”

 

“Alright, fine, but I didn’t _make_ you put down your reading so you could stare at my legs,” Drift shot back smoothly.

 

Ratchet sputtered, but he pulled up his datapad again, muttering curses under his ventilations as he ignored how flustered the teasing made him. The quiet had been preferable after all!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final prompt, which was a free space :) I couldn't resist making my own moment out of that cute little hug we saw in Lost Light 23...

Despite that the _Last Light_ was essentially the same ship, Drift felt an immense sense of relief at being on the _Lost Light_ again. Given the happy chatter of voices around him as the splintered crew reunited, he wasn’t the only one.

 

“Drift!”

 

Drift turned, though he didn’t need to look to see who the voice belonged to. Ratchet’s voice was one he’d recognize anywhere, imagined in the back of his mind or dreamed on lonely nights. Ratchet calling his name had been the last thing he’d heard as a shot pierced his sparkchamber and the universe had collapsed.

 

But here he stood, and there was Ratchet, making a beeline for him. Drift smiled.

 

And then he blinked when he realized Ratchet wasn’t curbing his speed as he approached and let out a soft noise as Ratchet immediately threw his arms around Drift. There was enough momentum that their chestplates smacking into each other made a sound which had several heads turn their way. But clearly Ratchet didn’t care, and neither Drift. His still-sore spark thrilled as he wrapped his arms around Ratchet’s frame in return.

 

After a moment, Ratchet pulled back, though not even arm’s length away. His hands went from bracing on Drift’s shoulders to running his fingertips over Drift’s patched chestplate and then grasping Drift’s shoulders again as he peered up.

 

Drift just grinned breathlessly at him, feeling a little giddy and winded. Seeing a smile on Ratchet’s features like this was always – well, there were words he could use about his feelings for it, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge them.

 

Ratchet appeared to be trying to say several things all at the same time; “don’t scare me like that” and “leaving all dramatic and hurt again” became something like “don’t ever leave me again” and they both froze as _that_ moment passed over them.

 

Before Ratchet could stammer out a correction, Drift just tilted his helm. “I won’t,” he said softly.

 

Ratchet stared at him, speechless. Though he still reset his vocalizer and shook his helm. “Well… good.”

 

Drift couldn’t help it; he laughed at that, a purely joyful sound that apparently calmed Ratchet’s wildly flaring field. He only stopped when Ratchet yanked him close again.

 

“You dope,” the medic muttered.

 

Drift snorted, but he didn’t get a chance to reply; Ratchet shifted one of his hands to Drift’s collar-faring and dragged him into a full-on kiss.

 

Drift grinned into the kiss, holding Ratchet tight and letting his spark soar; there was no point anymore in denying what the song in his spark was and always had been.

**Author's Note:**

> ✿ [twitter.com/stardustbytes](https://twitter.com/stardustbytes) ☆ [stardustland](https://cosmicstardustland.wordpress.com/about/) ✿


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